Cyber stalking

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Once upon a time I was very much in love with a man.

For nearly two years, we enjoyed each other’s company until one sad day when we parted ways.

At first it wasn’t amiable.

I was pissed that he brought a date to our mutual friend’s pirate-themed party a mere week and a half after our split.

But eventually we made peace and it’s a good thing too because I can now remember him fondly, without a trace of anger.

But the sadness?

Oh, there’s sadness.

The other day I was texting a friend who mentioned he saw Mother’s Day pics of his ex-girlfriend posted to a mutual friend’s Facebook page.

And he was pleased to see her looking happy and well.

I finished our conversation then got online and looked up my ex.

Still the same lovely man, of course.

But there was ONE PHOTO.

Just a photo of him, nothing special.

And oh, how my eyes DRANK UP THE SIGHT OF HIM.

And then I got a funny feeling in my chest.

I’m not even sure what it was.

Sadness?

Longing?

Maybe even a little wistfulness?

In any case, I immediately closed my app and swore up and down that I would never do that again.

And I won’t.

Until the next time.

 

Inner voice

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I’ve been blogging on unblunder for about 15 years.

First on my own without a platform, then on this WordPress site.

When the blog began, I was in Law School and the blog existed to write about all the things I was going to do to walk the straight and narrow.

Then I dropped out of Law School.

And instead of recording all the PERFECT things I was doing to turn my life into EXACTLY what was expected of me, I started to record all the crazy, fun, and imperfect moments of my life.

The adventures – like racing stock cars, running with the bulls, and going to Burning Man.

If you’ve met me in person, you know I’m fairly quiet.

I tend to be reserved until I am comfortable with the people I am with.

It takes time for me to adjust and I’m not ashamed to say I can be a little shy.

I observe, like any good writer, and I catalog all the things I find amusing or sad.

Anything worthy of sharing gets typed into my phone for later use on the blog.

Once, I was asked by someone I BARELY knew to not write about her in my blog.

My inner voice said, “Just don’t do anything interesting.”

I obeyed, unless you count the fact that I’ve now blogged our conversation at least three times.

My point is, most everyone is a censor.

Of course, they don’t think of it that way, but it’s censorship plain and simple.

And yet I still manage to write about my life, my adventures, and my stories.

The other day, my girlfriend and I were sitting around having coffee on her back porch in the morning sun and she mentioned that I’m typically very quiet but she knows me better than that.

My inner voice is a comedienne.

Spoonflower

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I sew a lot.

I just finished a quilt for Barbara and I’m taking a break before making my next quilt:

It’s called the “Spruced Goose.”

Even though I know how to sew clothes, I seldom do on account of I usually get bored with my project and never finish making it.

But lately, I’ve been thinking it might be nice to work on some clothes for myself.

Specifically, leggings.

I found a website called SPOONFLOWER which sells AMAZING unique designs which they custom print onto your desired fabric – spandex, cotton, cotton jersey, etc.

Lately my inspiration has been coming from things I see online.

  • Mushrooms
  • Narwhals
  • Cocktails
  • Mermaids
  • Sloths
  • Butterflies
  • Candy
  • Pineapples
  • Geek

To be honest, it all started when I tried to find mushroom leggings.

I didn’t like anything I found so I figured, why not make it?

And thus, I started shopping Spoonflower.

What do you think?

Gavin

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I was tired and trying to sleep.

Being eight months pregnant, sleeping was difficult.

Can’t get comfortable.

Can lay on my stomach.

Need to put a pillow between my legs.

I was SUPER tired.

Nevertheless, something kept waking me up.

[HINT:  I was in labor]

I’d taken a bunch of castor oil the day before in the hopes of starting labor.

[HINT:  It did!]

So I finally got up and decided to go take a bath.

But as I stood in the tub, waiting for it to fill, a little drop of blood came out of me and dissolved into the water.

Hmmmm.

I called my doctor’s exchange and waited for a call back.

Meanwhile I began to get increasingly uncomfortable.

I decided to head straight to the hospital, without even hearing back from the doctor.

My ex-husband made me sit in a garbage bag on the ride there and it was then that I realized I was in active labor.

I remember clutching the window frame, trying to breathe through the contractions.

I got into the hospital, was put in a room and the nurse decided to check me out.

I was fully dilated.

There I was, pushing my baby out, with no doctor, only a nurse to help me.

It was crazy fast labor.

[HINT:  I was only in the hospital for 20 minutes before my son was born.]

The doctor took the stairs and managed to get to me before the baby was born.

And that is how Gavin entered this world.

Duncan

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Once upon a time I was a young pregnant woman closing in on my due date.

My son had mysteriously lost two quadrants of aminiotic fluid during my pregnancy so I was gently informed by my doctor to “Go home. Get your bags.  Come straight to the hospital.”

I was a month early but the doctor decided the pregnancy was too risky and so she opted to induce me.

I was quite comfortable, even in active labor, until my water broke.

Then all hell broke loose.

I begged for an epidural.

The anesthesiologist came in, gave me a little test shot of painkillers into my spine and asked, “How do you feel now?”

I looked straight at him and said, “I have to PUSH!”

There was no stopping it.

If someone walked up to me with a million dollars on a platter, and offered it to me but only if I wouldn’t push, I still would have PUSHED.

I asked my ex-husband to turn on some music.

It was then that we discovered we forgot our labor music at home and all we had was the CD that was in the stereo – RESERVOIR DOGS.

PLAY IT ANYWAY!

“Lookin’ back on the track for a little green bag
Got to find just a kind or losin’ my mind
Out of sight in the night, out of sight in the day
Lookin’ back on the track, gonna do it my way”

I’ll never forget that my son Duncan was born after forty-five minutes of labor, while listening to Little Green Bag.

It certainly explains why my eldest son is such a wheeler, dealer, charmer and freewheeler.

He was born listening to Reservoir Dogs.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Sleeping alone

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My doctor stayed late working on Friday just so she could get the results from my biopsy and let me know via email that there were no pre-cancer cells present.

Let me say that again.

THERE WERE NO PRE-CANCER CELLS PRESENT!

You can’t IMAGINE how relieved I was.

Just in time for Mother’s Day, I get a clean bill of health.

It was exactly as I hoped and everything I wanted.

The best part of finding out your pussy isn’t broken is that you feel so ecstatic about it your flirt game goes up a notch.

I went to a Tacos and Tequila bar crawl and had THE BEST TIME.

I got my flirt on (as best I could when most of the men I ran into were coupled up or way too young for me) and managed to pass out my card to not one, but TWO men – both of whom were interested in finding out more about Burning Man.

There was one gentleman, an angry young man who raged about his mother leaving him in a crack house, who played a game of “Whose childhood was more fucked up” with my friend.

I steered VERY CLEAR of him.

By the end of the night, it was time for me to go to bed.

Yes, alone.

But at least we now know that won’t be for long.

P.S.  I ran into a HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND I hadn’t seen since HIGH SCHOOL while on the Tacos and Tequila pub crawl.  Shout out to Lynne!

Costume building

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I’m looking for inspiration for my next set of Burning Man outfits.

Lately, I’ve been inspired by tie-dye, bright colors, butterflies, stars, pineapples, the color white and costumes.

We’ve established my peacock and butterfly outfits already:

Although, I am skeptical that I will wear the matching wigs on account of the playa being too dry and hot for me to actually get my hair up in a wig cap without dying of heatstroke first.

I also have a St. Pauli Girl costume which I will wear because my friend and I are hosting Oktoberfest at the No Drama Bar again this year.

Imagine ice cold brew on the playa. . .

Ah, so refreshing!

I’ve been looking at white simply because of “White Wednesdays” and also because there’s a “white” party on the playa that I’d like to attend.

My previous white dress has seen better days and needs replacing:

Although I can’t bear to get rid of it because that dress has been a good luck charm for me.

Wink, wink!

It’s so hot during the days at Burning Man that I’m really working on MINIMAL outfits to wear – short shorts, camis, sleeveless bodysuits, short cotton dresses and rompers.

Yes, I may ACTUALLY slip into a romper.

I also need to do something about a tutu.

Burning Man pretty much destroys everything you bring there and my tutus have seen better days.

So once again, I’m going into costume building mode where I look for inspiration online then build a costume around what inspires me.

Lucky me!

That time I landed a lumberjack

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Once upon time, I had a HUGE crush.

He was a lumberjack.

With a beard.

And a voice like he gargled with glass.

When he’d say my name (Bombshell), he’d say it with gravitas.

He flirted with me and (of course) I did my best to flirt back.

We all know that although I enjoy flirting, I’m not always the best at it.

Sometimes I’m awkward.

Other times I’m way too subtle.

But in this case, I managed to convey my interest by simply staring at his mouth and fantasizing about kissing him.

He literally stopped right in the middle of the conversation he was having to kiss me.

Success!

And boy, what a kiss it was.

Pretty soon we were all over each other, making out and groping one another.

It’s not every day that a fantasy comes true for me, but this time around it did.

I got my lumberjack.

And yes, it was everything I expected and a little bit of the unexpected.

I got to knock an item off my sexual bucket list that night.

Guess what it was?

Kilts and lumberjacks

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Long ago I used to volunteer for the Campbell Highland Games.

My friends were the organizers so I naturally gravitated to helping them with the event.

I thought, perhaps wrongly so, that I was of Scottish descent.

Now, 23 & Me has proven me to be Scandinavian (Norwegian), British Isles (so PERHAPS Scottish) and a little bit Portuguese (I have my maternal Grandma to thank for that).

I joke that being mostly Scandinavian and a little Portuguese means I burn easily but I can hold a tan.

LOL.

The other day, I was emailing a friend and he sent me some photos of him in a kilt.

Lordy, how love a man in a kilt.

I was instantly transported back in time to those Highland games, and to my not one, but TWO trips to Scotland.

Tartan kilts, bottles of scotch, purple heathered mountains, black water (at least in Loch Lomond, it’s black), bagpipes, and fresh raspberries.

I love how kilts represent family.

Community.

I love how well they pair with sporrans, hose and jacket.

And as much as I love a lumberjack in a plaid flannel shirt, I ALMOST as equally love a man in a kilt.

Not surprisingly, I have a few friends who wear kilts.

They are burners, naturally.

They don’t wear the tartan variety, mind you.

Just the utili-kilt, lightweight variety kilt.

And still, it has the same funny effect on me.

So whether I’m eating fresh raspberries at a real Highland games in Inverness, or sitting on my bed at home reminiscing, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for men in kilts.

Give me Gerard Butler in a kilt or a man with “Campfire” as his middle name and color me happy.

What’s your type?

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A group of friends and I were discussing our “types.”

As in what type of man do we find ourselves attracted to.

Me, I go for lumberjacks – bearded and outdoorsy.

My friend Allison said her type was Germanic.

And then our friend Adele admitted that the type of man she goes for is the kind who hates her, deep down.

We were floored.

It’s one thing to like beards.

You wind up dating lots of bearded men.

It’s another thing to wind up with men who have an underlying dislike of you.

I could hear the truth in what she was saying though, and it hurt to think of what she had been through in order to actually identify “hates me” as her type.

We asked for clarification.

“Well, they don’t come at me FULL ASSHOLE,” she explained.

At first, they’re nice and caring.

But then something changes and they turn into an asshole with her.

Personally, I can relate to her mindset.

I too have dated men who started out nice and caring but who evolved into critical, misogynistic partners.

Once I met a guy who would bully me when he didn’t get his way.

He swore up and down what a great boyfriend he was and how much he loved women.

But then he texted me nasty messages when I wouldn’t do what he wanted.

He’d go back and forth, being nice to me trying to change my mind, then call me a bitch when I wouldn’t do as he said.

I got away from him as quick as I could.

It’s hard for me to give advice about men, considering that I really believe many of the single men out there are porn addicts who use women and are afraid of connection with other human beings.

But if I were to say one thing, it would be to look for the good men, and when you discover his true colors, and they aren’t as appealing as they were when you met him. . .

R U N !